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It's a Dog's Life

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It’s not just that Sirius prefers being Padfoot, even though everything is so much easier when you’re a dog – you eat, you run around, you cuddle your persons. 

His main person was, and would always be, the pup. Harry. Sirius had to remember to call the pup ‘Harry’ – just as he had to remember that he was Sirius, not Padfoot, even though being Padfoot was just – easier. Easier for everyone, really, not just himself.

Harry was more comfortable with him being Padfoot, too – if it was that he didn’t have to look someone in the eye when he talked to a dog, or if it was that a dog couldn’t be expected to answer, something sure made the pup more open to spending time with Padfoot than with Sirius. For Sirius – Padfoot – the choice was an easy one to make, even if the limits of where Sirius-the-human ended and Padfoot-the-dog began were starting to blur more than usual.

It happened, sometimes, if a wizard or witch spent too long in their animal form, that they didn’t – couldn’t - find their way back. Sirius wasn’t certain how long too long was, but considering how he’d started thinking of himself as Padfoot-the-dog more than anything, he had a feeling he’d passed that time limit a while back.

The sound that brought him out of his reverie was so soft that he couldn’t pinpoint it at first, but it was enough to make him pause on the third-floor landing, barely breathing so that he could be sure to catch it – and there it was again, a soft whimper, coming from the pup’s room.

Padfoot had never been happier that with enough concentration animaguses could cast a few, easy spells even while in their animal shapes, than when he cast an alohomora on his pup’s door. The door swung open at his nudging, and he wasn’t surprised to find him in the throes of a nightmare, the thin shape of him twisting and shuddering under the blanket, intermittently letting out the softest of whimpers.

Sirius-the-man knew that that kind of behaviour only came from someone used to hiding their nightmares from the world and people around them. It broke his heart, that his pup would know how to do that.

He made sure the door was closed tight behind him, the sound of the lock clicking shut loud in the almost silent room before he jumped up on the bed. He trod in a circle, once, before he carefully flopped down on Harry, driving the breath out of him and effectively waking him up.

“Pa’foo?” the boy slurred, bringing a hand up to pat him on the head. “How’d y’get in h’re…”

The pup was asleep again within seconds, this time relaxed under the weight of Padfoot’s bulky body.

When Padfoot woke up the next morning, after what felt like his best night’s sleep since he’d escaped the dark-dreary place (Azkaban, Sirius-the-man supplied), the bed was empty. It didn’t smell stale, so it hadn’t been empty long – that, and he could hear the pup moving about in the en-suite bathroom.

He didn’t bother moving until he heard Harry come back into the room, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. It pleased him, how much more open the pup was with him when he was Padfoot – something that very well could be the major contributing reason that he didn’t mind the thought of being more dog than man.

With Harry came a pleasantly musky smell, and reflexively Padfoot sat up, sniffing. The pup glanced at him, letting out a laugh at how attentive he’d all of a sudden become.

“Morning Padfoot,” he said, going over to scratch the dog’s ears. As Harry came close, the smell became almost intoxicatingly strong, and it was a smell Padfoot wanted nothing more than to bury himself in. When the boy turned to the wardrobe, leaving the immediate vicinity of the bed, Padfoot jumped down and followed him, sniffing all the while.

He whuffled at Harry’s knees, the bottom of his towel, his feet, all while Harry tried to gather clothes from the wardrobe and dresser. He didn’t make any attempts to push Padfoot away, only giggling at him, squirming slightly when the dog’s cold nose hit the back of his knees.

“What are you up to?” he murmured fondly, bending down to run his fingers through Padfoot’s fur. When he bent down and the towel moved, the smell became stronger, and Padfoot sniffed harder, trying to get as much of the smell as he could.

When Harry turned away from Padfoot again, he slipped on – something. Padfoot wasn’t exactly focused on finding out what he slipped on – neither was Sirius, for that matter – as Harry had, when he fell, landed on all four, the towel flipping up over his back, and that intoxicating smell was stronger than ever.

Sirius was sure there would be repercussions, but that part of Padfoot was so small and suppressed that he just didn’t care, and that smell was amazing. He had to get his nose as close to the source of that smell as he possibly could.

“What…?” Harry started, the words ending in a moan as he felt Padfoot nose – literally – at his balls. It wasn’t right and Harry was going to push him away, but the hand pushing at Padfoot’s head quickly started clutching at his fur instead when the dog’s tongue licked a broad stripe from his balls to his hole.

Now, Harry was a teenager, and he knew he had a quick recovery – however, he usually couldn’t wank off and then be hard again less than five minutes later, but the way Padfoot was licking at his balls and his hole, as if it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, quickly had him dripping.

His arms shook and buckled, unable to support his weight, and he went down on his elbows, something that made Padfoot growl with what sounded like approval. Apparently, the change in position gave him better access, because suddenly Harry could feel the dog’s long tongue inside him. It was a feeling he had never felt before, and it was also what made him throw all kinds of propriety out the window.

Who cared if it was his godfather, in his dog form, that was doing it? If it made him feel that good, fuck everything else.

He’d had sex before, fumbled and awkward trysts with classmates, but nothing had gotten him as hard and ready to come as quickly and thoroughly as Padfoot had done.

Harry shuffled around a little, further spreading his legs, lowering his chest to his arms, and while Padfoot had chuffed warningly at him when he first moved, it quickly turned into that same approving growl when he had Harry even further spread out before him.

The pup tasted amazing. Nose buried in his ass, tongue reaching as far as he possibly could into him, the room was filled with Harry’s moans and the sound of Padfoot’s sloppy licking. His hole had been a tight furl at first, Padfoot’s tongue only able to pass over it, but as he continued licking it opened up, and he could lick deeper and deeper into him. That musky smell was even more intoxicating when he tasted it, and the more he licked the stronger the taste became.

He wasn’t prepared for the way Harry shouted when he licked at one particular spot, but he liked the sound – and the taste became stronger, too – so he focused his licking on that spot. Prostate, Sirius-the-man conveyed, all protestations vanished in the face of how enthusiastic Harry was about the proceedings.

When Harry came he keened and shuddered, just barely managing to keep his knees under him and not cause him to fall flat on his face. He’d tightened so around Padfoot’s tongue he could barely withdraw it, but when he did he saw Harry’s hole almost gaping, glistening wetly at him, the rim seemingly grasping for something to tighten around. Padfoot reared up.

Harry had barely recovered from the most mindblowing orgasm he’d ever experienced when he was suddenly being pressed into the carpet, Padfoot’s heavy bulk pushing him down. The dog’s front paws were on his shoulders, he could hear him panting just behind his ears, and he could feel something hard and slimy slide over his hole a few times before he got the angle right and buried his cock in Harry.

In the brief moment of clarity that Harry had before the haze of lust descended again, he realised that whereas Padfoot’s cock felt thinner than he imagined most humans, it was just like his tongue very long.

If Harry thought his recovery time was quick before it was nothing compared to when he had Padfoot thrusting deep in him, and on every thrust, the head of his cock dragged over that spot that made him see stars. With every thrust Padfoot used the paws he’d hooked over Harry’s shoulders to pull him back onto his cock, taking advantage of his rather bulky body to drive his cock as hard and as deep into Harry as he possibly could.

Harry couldn’t do much more than moan, hang on tight with the hands he had clenched in the carpet, and try to arch to meet Padfoot’s thrusts as best he could.

After several thrusts where each one was a direct hit to Harry’s prostate, something that made him clench hard around Padfoot’s cock and also see stars and fireworks as he’d never seen before, he felt something that made his eyes fly open.

Padfoot’s cock was getting thicker – not all of it, only the base, but it was enough that he could feel himself stretching slightly with every thrust. After a few thrusts, it was big enough to catch on his rim, and it hit him that dogs have knots, and Padfoot probably would too. Not so much ‘probably’, Harry deliriously thought to himself, snickering slightly before Padfoot’s knot caught and tugged at his rim again, and all coherent thought fled him.

It didn’t take long until the knot had swelled enough that Padfoot couldn’t withdraw, forcing him to keep the thrusts shallow – but no less hard, for that. Harry was certain he’d been moved forward a good foot from the force of his thrusts, not that he complained. He was having the time of his life.

Padfoot hit his prostrate again, and this time the stars were accompanied by an orgasm that was almost strong enough to knock Harry out entirely. He was happy it didn’t, because he wouldn’t have felt the hot rush of come as Padfoot came if he’d been passed out, and that would’ve been a crying shame.

Padfoot hung heavily on Harry’s back, panting in his ear, and he just kept coming. Gush after gush, and he could feel the heat of it deep inside him, blazing almost like fire, laying its indisputable claim to him.

After several minutes where the two of them remained tied together by Padfoot’s knot, both of them panting and trying to recover their wits, the knot had gone down enough that Padfoot could start moving – which he immediately did. The knot was still too big for him to slip out of Harry, but he could thrust again, and so he did.

In slow, deep drags, Padfoot fucked Harry with his knot, every thrust hard enough to punch the air out of Harry’s lungs, every withdraw also drawing a whine from him.

He was so fucked out he barely winched when the knot finally receded enough for Padfoot to slip out him, tired enough to barely reflect over the hot rush of come leaving his ass, Padfoot having come so much it was trickling out of Harry once he’d pulled out.

Harry was exhausted, and while he didn’t have the energy to lie down he sank further into the carpet, letting his weight rest on his shoulders and knees while he recovered, just a little. A second later he was glad he’d done so, because if he hadn’t, he probably would have ended up on his face when Padfoot once again licked a broad stripe from his balls to his hole.

It hit him that Padfoot was licking his own come out of Harry’s ass, and a bolt of arousal shot to his cock. He’d come three times during the morning, but if Padfoot continued what he’d started Harry could probably go for a fourth.

That long, dexterous tongue licked him clean with long, broad licks over his cock, laving his balls and circling the rim of his hole. Once satisfied Harry was as clean as he’d get on the outside, Padfoot once again drove his tongue deep into Harry, lapping at his insides, getting mouthful after mouthful of his own come.

Harry was squirming in place, trying to move away from Padfoot while at the same time trying to get that tongue deeper still. He was so oversensitive he wasn’t certain where the pleasure ended and the pain began, but when Padfoot managed to get in a hard lick right over his prostate, everything went black.

When he came to again, he was in the same position, now with the side of his face pressed to the carpet, panting harshly. On his side beside him, panting just as harshly, was Padfoot.

“Woo,” Harry finally managed to say, the first conscious sound he’d made in what felt like forever. He’d been making sounds while getting fucked, alright, but not one of them had been something he set out to do. They just – happened. Most of them were sounds he hadn’t known he could do. “Well.”

Beside him, Padfoot’s pantings had quieted down, almost like he was holding his breath. Harry could imagine what was going through his mind – most of it was things he’d thought of saying, too, but facts remained. Overstimulated, yes, oversensitive for sure, but he’d never felt as good as he was then.

“Tomorrow, same time and place, Padfoot?” he said, having managed to make his worn-out vocal cords cooperate.

Next to him, the big black dog barked quietly, and if that bark felt both relieved and agreeing, well. Tomorrow, they’d start where they’d ended.